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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189365">Sleeplessly Embracing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinparallel/pseuds/lostinparallel'>lostinparallel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Asphyxiation, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Cuddles, Implied Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Post-Episode: s04e10 Carnage of Krell, why let dogma have a happy ending when i can be evil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:55:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinparallel/pseuds/lostinparallel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rex isn't sleeping. Anakin tries to help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>CT-7567 | Rex &amp; Anakin Skywalker, CT-7567 | Rex/Anakin Skywalker, Dogma (Star Wars) &amp; CT-7567 | Rex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>231</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sleeplessly Embracing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this one got away from me a bit but what can i say. im gay and craved sad space boys. title is from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dCCXq9QB-dQ">hunger of the pine</a> by alt-j. mando'a translations are in the end notes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rex knows he looks like bantha shit. He must look worse, judging by the concerned glances General Skywalker keeps shooting his way. It isn’t unusual for Rex to catch the general looking at him when he thinks Rex won’t notice, but this is different. These are looks Rex is all too familiar with – looks usually reserved for when General Kenobi isn’t hiding his pain as well as he thinks he is, or little Ahsoka is on a mission without her master. Rex isn’t used to being the target of Skywalker’s aggressive worrying. He’s normally a lot better at taking care of himself but <em>normal</em> isn’t a word he would use to describe the past couple of weeks.</p><p>Everything Rex thought he knew ended on Umbara. His trust in the Republic, in the jedi was shattered. All he has left is his faith in his brothers and his loyalty to his general, which would never waver, no matter how many <em>darjetii</em> the council let into its ranks.</p><p>Exhaustion settles deep in Rex’s bones. He hasn’t slept a wink in the past two – no – three rotations. He’s losing track of time, day and night blending into one endless stream of consciousness. He pours himself into his work, desperate to keep his thoughts at bay, but it isn’t enough. His mind still races when he finally allows himself to sleep.</p><p>Something brushes against his shoulder and he startles. Skywalker is beside him, his brows pinched, searching Rex’s expression for answers to a question Rex prays he doesn’t ask.</p><p>“Rex,” he says.</p><p>“Yes, sir?”</p><p>A beat passes as Skywalker considers his next words. “You look terrible.”</p><p>Rex holds back a sigh. “Noted, sir.”</p><p>“When was the last time you got some sleep?”</p><p>Rex doesn’t respond. Skywalker already knows the answer, at least to an extent: <em>not recently enough.</em></p><p>The general huffs and folds his arms. For a moment, Rex thinks Skywalker will let it go. He’s woefully mistaken because, the next thing he knows, Skywalker is grabbing his hand and tugging him out of the observation deck.</p><p>“Sir—” Rex forces his legs to keep up with his sleep-deprived brain, stumbling behind Skywalker as he leads them away. “Where are we going?”</p><p>Skywalker doesn’t stop, just keeps pulling Rex along. “<em>You’re</em> going to bed.”</p><p>If Rex wasn’t about ready to collapse, he would take a leaf out of Ashoka's book and dig his heels in, yank his arm out of Skywalker’s grasp. Instead, he lets Skywalker drag him along.</p><p>“But, the men—”</p><p>“Will be fine,” Skywalker interrupts, waving a hand. “I’m sure Fives can handle being in charge for a few hours.”</p><p>Eventually, they arrive at Skywalker’s private quarters. Skywalker punches in his passcode and the door slides open with a mechanical whir.  He flicks the lights on with the hand that isn’t holding Rex’s. The room is small and sparsely decorated, unlike his place at the Jedi Temple, which is littered with old podracing posters and scale models of various Republic starships.</p><p>As the door shuts behind them, Skywalker leads Rex to his bed. It’s larger than the cots in the barracks, probably more comfortable too. An image pops unbidden into Rex’s head: waking up in his general’s arms – somewhere far away – where the morning sunlight is no longer a luxury only felt on campaigns and the war is a distant memory.</p><p>Rex drags himself kicking and screaming from his fantasy. He feels weirdly light and belatedly realises that Skywalker is peeling him out of his armour. He can’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed. Rex lets Skywalker strip him down to his blacks before trying to salvage a shred of his dignity. He bats the general’s hands away and motions for him to turn around. Thankfully, Skywalker does, or Rex might have lost it. He removes his body glove with minimal floundering, then it hits him that he’s standing in his CO’s bedroom in only his undershorts. Heat unfurls in the pit of his stomach, a dark blush creeping up his neck.</p><p>He manages to crawl under the covers before Skywalker turns back around, tucking himself into the furthest corner of the bed. Skywalker doesn’t follow, instead sitting at his desk and reaching for his datapad. Rex isn’t disappointed. Really, he’s not. The general was wasting enough time with him already. Rex tells himself he’ll feel less guilty knowing Skywalker managed to get through some mission reports since he insists on babysitting him.</p><p>He draws the sheets up to his chin and lets his eyes fall shut, grateful for the quiet. It’s as though he had forgotten what silence sounded like – no snoring brothers, no hushed voices, no shuffling footsteps, no squeaky bunks. Just Skywalker, softly tapping at his datapad, the occasional creak of his chair when he shifts position.</p><p>Rex lets sleep claim him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>When Rex wakes, he is flat on his back. He struggles to his feet, feeling oddly sluggish in his armour. The purple haze swallows everything in front of him. He can barely see a few inches in front of his face, staggering blindly through the darkness. He reaches to activate his headlight but his gloved hand meets only the bare skin of his face.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No helmet. Where the kriff is his helmet?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Chaos swarms him. Plasma bolts whizz past his head and explosions rumble through the gnarled trees, shaking the earth beneath his feet. Around him, his brothers drop like flies. Their cries pierce the carnage. Rex wants to cover his ears, wants to drop to his knees and let the slaughter take him. But he presses on, tripping over the corpses of his men until a searing white light envelops him and the cacophony of battle cuts out all at once.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Four walls confine him. Rex feels himself falling. He manages to catch himself against the lip of something solid. He squints until his eyes adjust to his surroundings. He’s in one of the barracks refreshers, his fingers clutching the sink basin. A large mirror hangs in front of him but the reflection that greets him isn’t his own.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The trooper’s hair is dark and cropped short. A V-shaped tattoo stretches across the left side of his face. Rex tries to lift his hands to trace the ink but a cold pressure against his wrists cuts the motion short and he feels the telltale snag of binders.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dogma snarls at him through the mirror, his lips setting in a grim line. “You abandoned me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Something burns through Rex’s skull. He doubles over, hands scrabbling against the sink for purchase. He screams. The sound tears out of him, leaving him raw and trembling. He blinks up at the mirror through teary eyes. There’s a blaster hole through the centre of his – Dogma’s – head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Dogma, no… I wouldn’t,” he wheezes. Smoke weeps from the plasma wound.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His little brother’s face crumples. “I disobeyed orders for you, and they executed me!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Blood trickles into Rex’s eyes. All he can see is red, red, red.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You left me to die!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Rex collapses, his knees jarring as he hits the floor. The binders release with a click. He looks down and his hands are clasped tightly around one of his DCs. Dogma lies unmoving beside him. The pistol falls from Rex’s hand, clattering against the tiles. He chokes on a sob, lurching forwards, and shakes Dogma’s shoulders.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No—no, no, no, no. Dogma!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dogma’s eyes shoot open, irises swallowed by white. His fist closes around Rex’s throat.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Rex!”</p><p>Rex bolts upright. His vision swims, artificial light filtering through the purple smog. He feels a strange softness beneath him. His armour is gone. Still no helmet.</p><p>“Rex… it’s me…”</p><p>Skywalker is crouched beside the bed, his eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. The heel of Rex’s palm digs into his windpipe, fingernails biting into his neck. Skywalker’s face is red, red, red.</p><p>Rex releases him. The world seems to fall out from beneath him, like an open airlock sucking him into the emptiness of space. His hands shake with the aftershocks.</p><p>“Sir, I—” He can’t breathe. Dogma’s fist squeezes around his throat. Rex draws away, arms wrapping protectively around his middle.</p><p>Skywalker clutches the edge of the bed. His chest heaves as he tries to suppress the coughing fit wracking his frame. The discarded bedsheet bunches around his clenched hands.</p><p>“I’m sorry. Kriff, I’m so sorry—”</p><p>Skywalker holds up a hand to quiet him and Rex lets his pathetic apologies die on his lips, desperately schooling his breathing into some semblance of control.</p><p>“You’re okay. Just breathe, okay?” Skywalker’s voice is hoarse. “You’re safe.”</p><p>Tears sting behind Rex’s eyes. Because of course Skywalker is the one comforting <em>him</em> when there’s a hand-shaped bruise forming on the column of his throat.</p><p>“I could’ve killed you.” Rex shivers, feels the clamminess of cold sweat where his hands are wrapped around his bare torso.</p><p>Skywalker pulls himself to his feet and perches on the bed. “Hey, I’m fine.” He presses his fingers to his neck, almost successfully hiding his wince. “See? No harm done.”</p><p>Rex doesn’t believe him. He can’t understand. Skywalker should court-martial him or, at the very least, throw him out of his room, out of his <em>bed.</em> Instead, he reaches for him. Rex fails to suppress his flinch and Skywalker freezes, leaving his hand hanging in mid-air.</p><p>He swallows. Rex watches his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “It’s okay,” he soothes again.</p><p>Rex nods shakily, sucking in a deep breath. It rattles around inside his lungs, caged and frantic. Skywalker’s eyes are locked on his. Determined, he moves again and carefully pries Rex’s hands away from their death grip around his sides, cradling them in his own until they’re resting in his lap. Rex exhales slowly, lets himself deflate. He lowers his gaze to watch, transfixed, as Skywalker tenderly strokes Rex’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb.</p><p>“It was just a dream.” Skywalker presses their foreheads together, like he’s seen their men do with each other.</p><p>For clones, it’s a gesture of friendship, camaraderie, brotherhood. But for an outsider… No. Skywalker is one of their own. The general must not know what it means. <em>Mirshmure’cya – </em>a kiss shared between lovers.</p><p>Rex shudders to his senses. He retreats from Skywalker’s touch, feels the distance keenly and hates himself for it. A clone, half-naked in their general’s bed. He’d be reconditioned if the <em>kaminiise</em> ever found out.</p><p>“I shouldn’t be here,” he says.</p><p>Skywalker looks lost. He averts his eyes, playing with the glove covering his mechno-arm. “Look, I—It’s my fault. I thought having somewhere private to rest would help. But if I made you uncomfortable—”</p><p>“<em>No,</em>” Rex interrupts. Skywalker stiffens, taken aback by his sudden outburst. “No,” he says again, softer this time. “It’s not that. It’s just…” he sighs, frustrated, slumping back until his head thunks against the headboard. “Kriff.”</p><p>“Well, in that case.” Skywalker nudges Rex’s thigh with his knee. The contact sears and Rex wants to flinch away, wants to lean in, wants to drown in it. “Scooch over.”</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“Don’t—” Skywalker falters, gathers himself. “Don’t call me that. Please. Not here.”</p><p>Rex shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but Skywalker is pleading with him and he <em>wants.</em> “Anakin,” he breathes.</p><p>Anakin’s mouth forms a small ‘o’. His general clears his throat, chuckling to diffuse the tension. “You gonna let me into my own bed now?”</p><p>“Oh,” Rex's breath stutters. “Right.”</p><p>He scoots to the side and Anakin climbs into the bed until he, too, is lying on his back next to Rex, so close that their shoulders and thighs bump. Rex’s pulse thunders beneath his skin like cannon fire. It’s a wonder Anakin can’t hear it. Or maybe he can. Maybe his jedi powers are alerting him to Rex’s every treasonous reaction. Anakin turns his head to the side. Their eyes meet and he smiles softly. The intimacy sends Rex careening over the edge.</p><p>“Do jedi get them too?” he blurts. Anakin’s brows furrow in question. “Dreams, I mean.”</p><p>Anakin tilts his head away, staring up at the ceiling. He frowns, and Rex is afraid he misspoke, wants to smooth the lines etched into his handsome face.</p><p>He lets out a breath. “Yeah. We get them too. If anything, we get them more.” He wiggles his fingers cryptically. “Visions and all that.”</p><p>Rex rolls onto his side, tucking his hands under his cheek. “How do you deal with them?”</p><p>Anakin lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Master Yoda says to let them go, but…” He trails off. His eyes dull for a moment, lost in thought. He looks far away. Rex wonders where Anakin is, wonders if he would let Rex meet him there. Anakin blinks rapidly, returning to himself. “Let’s just say that doesn’t always work for me.”</p><p>Rex understands more than he can say. He’s lost so many men. To let them go, to forget them, would dishonour their memory and the cause they died fighting for.</p><p>“You wanna talk about it?” Anakin offers. He angles his body towards Rex, propping his chin up on the palm of his hand. “Your dream?”</p><p>Rex shakes his head, the motion almost imperceptible with it pressed against Anakin’s too-soft pillow. It smells like him, like a cool breeze fluttering over desert sands, like engine oil and linen and whatever fancy shampoo he uses on his kriffing fluffy hair.</p><p>Before Rex’s sleep-addled brain can catch up, he lifts his hand and inches closer to Anakin’s head. Anakin watches him approach, going so still that Rex is unsure if he’s even breathing. Rex’s hand settles awkwardly on the side of Anakin’s head and, when his general doesn’t recoil from his touch, he grows bolder, gently carding his fingers through Anakin’s long strands. It’s even softer than Rex imagined.</p><p>Anakin hums contentedly. His eyes drift shut, and Rex feels something light flutter in his ribcage. He cups the back of Anakin’s head, drawing him closer. Anakin goes willingly until he’s tucked against Rex’s chest, his cybernetic hand slung over his captain’s waist.</p><p>Rex closes his eyes and, not for the first time in his short life, he’s afraid. He’s afraid of <em>this,</em> of what it means, of Anakin’s eyelashes fluttering against his bare skin like tiny wingbeats.</p><p>“I shouldn’t be here,” he says again. Because it’s true. Regulation, engineering, the jedi code – an ever-present threat, lingering eyes watching them.</p><p>Anakin must feel it too. His fingers curl against Rex’s hipbone, almost possessive.</p><p>“Stay.”</p><p>Rex pulls Anakin closer, one hand bracing his broad shoulders while the other continues to stroke his hair.</p><p>And Rex stays. After all, he could never deny his general anything.</p><p>When sleep finds him again, he doesn’t dream.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mando'a translations:<br/>- <i>Mirshmure’cya:</i> Keldabe kiss; stand-in gesture for a kiss among fully armoured Mandalorians<br/>- <i>Kaminiise:</i> Kaminoans</p></blockquote></div></div>
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